Spark of Courage
by Stardustjinn
Summary: TF:Prime, Aligned. Pre Earth. After a surprise Decepticon attack near the Well of AllSpark, Ratchet manages to save a sparkling from certain death... or was it the other way around? Jazz definitely prefers the latter view. Origin fic. Rated for violence.
1. There Will Be Another

_My take on how a certain Autobot came to the world. Try to guess who the reckless sparkling is. Actually, that would be too easy but please comment on what you think nonetheless. There may be some follow up chapters or short stories, I don't know. Title inspired by an epic music called 'Heart of Courage' by Two Steps From Hell._

**_Disclaimer : For all the good saying this would do, I don't own the characters, settings and such. Only a few obvious OC's and the writing itself came from my head._**

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><p>"Ratchet? Where are you?" Prime's concerned voice came through the comm.<p>

"I am nearly there," Ratchet replied, rolling fast back to where the transport shuttles were. "ETA ten breems. There was a downed Autobot near the Well, so I..." He faltered. _I couldn't save him..._

The Autobot did not stand a chance. All Ratchet could do was to ease the pain so he might pass peacefully.

There was a short pause before Optimus spoke again.

"I see. Do you have back up? Is there someone else with you?"

"No, and I do not require back up."

Optimus sighed at the medic's stubbornness, barely aware of Jazz returning with his own team.

"Ratchet, you know better than to travel on your own."

"For Primus' sake, Optimus. I– WHAT IN THE FRAGGIN' PITS OF-"

Static filled the link.

"Ratchet? Ratchet! Do you read me?"

Optimus tried to contact his Chief Medical Officer but there was no respond. _Talk about tempting fate._

"Must be the AllSpark's energy spikes interfering again," Jazz mused, cool-headed as ever. "I'll go find him."

He instructed his team to board one of the ships and turned. Optimus halted his friend.

"Wait, I'm going with you... Ironhide? I need you to return with the wounded." He glanced at the red, intimidating Autobot lounging against the ship's hull.

Ironhide had been blasted in the leg by one of the Seeker's missiles in their latest skirmish. However, the veteran was not one to let something so trivial like a crippled leg from fighting and went on to take out at least three more Decepticons until Ratchet had personally stormed out ahead and drag the wounded Autobot away for repairs.

"What about you?"

"One of my mechs is on standby with a stealth ship," Jazz supplied without missing a beat. "If we need ta, we can hitch a ride."

"Alright, I'll take those ships back to Iacon. Have fun out there," Ironhide grumbled as his two comrades rolled out.

—§—

Ratchet shifted his rear-view as he pushed his wheels harder. _Fragging Underworlders,_ he cursed.

As the war heightened, an unusual number of the creatures from the Underworld started to surface, particularly around the Well of AllSpark. Some said it was a way for the planet to protect the Well. Others said it was Primus expressing his displeasure. Ratchet did not care much for either theories. What really had his gears grinding was that these creatures did not discriminate in their targets, and newly sparked Cybertronians climbing out of the Well made nice, easy prey.

Megatron had enough sense to put up a front to be honouring the cease-fire treaty made within two hundred klick radius of the Well. That is, until he became aware of just how many younglings were pledging themselves firmly to the Autobot cause.

_Trust a 'con to be stupid enough to attack an active Well,_ Ratchet grumbled to himself, watching the Underworlder chasing behind. It leaped, baring its long claws. Ratchet braked and turned sideways, letting the creature sail well past above him. He transformed and shifted his hands to a pair of blades. Well, one mindless beast shouldn't be too hard.

The Underworlder skidded to a stop and turned around, snarling. Ratchet calmly waited for the right moment, activating his battle protocols. The creature lunged, swiping with its claws. Ratchet ducked and stabbed its abdomen. It howled in pain and swiped again at the Autobot. He quickly backed off, but the claws managed to tear out a good portion of his chest armor. He stepped away, cursing himself for not having the foresight to bring his guns. The creature lunged. Ratchet side-stepped with a surprising speed for a medic and struck his sword with deadly precision. The blade dented and chipped off, but thankfully it managed to slice away half of the creature's head. Venting deeply, Ratchet turned back towards the direction of Iacon only to come to face with a barrel of a blaster.

"Thank you for taking care of my trouble for me, Autobot," the Decepticon said. "But I cannot allow you to have one of _my_ findings."

Ratchet glared at the con, trying to think of a way out. The enemy was relatively small. _One of their scouts? _That would make sense, since Tyger Pax was firmly in the Autobot's grasp. The medic's trained optics noticed that the con was slightly leaning to the left. _Right pede slightly wounded_, he realised. Not that it helped much. Damaged or not, with a gun held in point-blank range to his head, there was not much the medic could do.

"_Your_ findings?" he repeated.

The dark-painted faceplates twisted into an amused smile.

"So you don't know?" he said softly. "No matter. It does—"

_Ting_

They both looked down. Just next to the con's damaged pede, a natural silver life form smaller than even a minicon stood by, examining the giant pede in front of him with great interest. He seemed to feel their attention on him and looked up. There was a mixture of curiosity and defiance in the tiny face.

_A new-spark,_ Ratchet realised. Even for a new-spark he was smaller than average. A quick once over informed that the sparkling was barely an orn old. Cybertronians were sparked with the program to stand and walk on two pedes so Ratchet was not surprised to see him standing, but the Well of AllSparks was quite some distance away. Either someone transported the sparkling and left him, or the tiny thing came all the way on his own. His battered state favoured the latter explanation. Ratchet could also see that the sparkling was yet to learn how to transform. He was about to yell at the little one to run away from harm when the tiny thing kicked the Decepticon's pede once more.

_Ting_

It did not even leave a scratch.

"Hey, back off!" the Decepticon snarled, shaking his pede threateningly. It caught the sparkling and he toppled back, the momentum causing him to tumble backwards several times. A low snarl escaped Ratchet as his core programming protested against the abuse. He curled his fists but the 'con quickly turned his attention back to the medic. The sparkling got back up to his feet and stared up at the two titans before him with a rather frustrated look.

"Whatcha looking at, huh? I said back off!" the Decepticon growled, quickly shifting his gaze between the Autobot and the tiny new-spark.

Paying no attention to the threats, the sparkling instead stared at the thing he kicked. He slowly retreated a few steps, then looked back up, cocking his head to a side and clicking. Then he did something neither mechs could anticipate.

A new-spark, no older than a few cycles and without any proper armour whatsoever, ran up to the Decepticon towering over him and kicked with all his strength for the third time. It was such a bold and reckless move that Ratchet's CPU nearly froze up before he could diagnose an evident glitch in the sparkling's basic survival protocols. There had to be a glitch, because no new-spark with a functioning survival protocol would dare try to attack the first adult Cybertronian he saw. By some divine intervention from Primus, the tiny assaulter had managed to strike some loose wires and a thin metal structure exposed in the 'con's wound.

_Crack_

"YYAAAAAARGH!"

The Decepticon howled, dropping his gun and clutching the offended limb. Ratchet did not miss the chance. Shoving the 'con away from the sparkling, who scrambled out of the way clicking rapidly in alarm to not get crushed underfoot, the medic kneed his opponent's chest and gave a much harder kick on the faceplate. The Decepticon reeled backwards but he recovered fast, summoning another gun from his subspace. Ratchet planted himself between the 'con and the sparkling, bracing himself for the blow. Before the Decepticon could fire, however, the gun was blasted out of his hand.

"What the—"

He leaped sideways to avoid the blaster fires sent his way by none other than Optimus Prime. The former cursed as a shot found its mark on one of his arm-mounted missile. Sensing defeat, he transformed to run away, only to be pounced by Jazz who had driven straight up ahead.

"Ratchet, are you alright?" Optimus asked urgently, leaving Jazz to finish off the enemy.

"Yes, I'm fine."

Ratchet turned to the tiny lifeform who had, in a way, saved his life. The sparkling had placed himself on top of one of the fallen debris well away from the fight. He watched with wide optics as Jazz easily overpowered the enemy, chirring softly in awe. Feeling the other two bots' gaze, he tensed and took a step back warily. Ratchet noticed an impressive dent on the little one's pede, likely the result from the three kicks he gave that unfortunate Decepticon scout.

"Is that a new-spark?" Jazz wondered, having finished the job and sprinting back to them. "What's _he_ doing up here?"

"Something I would ask him, if only he could speak," Ratchet replied. The sparkling chirped as if to agree with him.

"It appears our troops had missed one coming out of the Well. With all the sudden attacks, I cannot blame them," Optimus mused, setting a reminder to tell the remaining Autobots stationed nearby to keep an optic out for any other stray new-sparks.

The sparkling in question tilted his head to a side and made an enquiring sound. Jazz knelt down to match optic-level, the corner of his mouthplates curling up into a soft smile.

"What are ya doing here, little one?" he asked. "This is no place for a youngling like ya ta be alone."

The sparkling clicked and whirled in a rapid but jovial fashion, trying to explain himself. Pointing first at the Underworlder's off-lined frame and then at the Decepticon's, he waved his arms in a flailing motion enthusiastically. The sounds that are emitted made little sense to the adult bots, but Ratchet suddenly remembered his earlier exchange with the Decepticon scout and started having a sneaking suspicion that the sparkling may have been chased all the way up here either by the Underworlder or the 'con. Or, Primus forbid, both. He was now gripped by a temptation to thoroughly desecrate the frame behind them. He could feel the others' disgust as well as they came to similar conclusions at the sparkling's valiant efforts to be understood.

Resisting the urge, he instead carefully approached the sparkling. The latter abruptly stopped his acts and backed away, optics darting back and forth between the big bots. Ratchet's soothing chirr did little to ease the tension rolling off his small frame. His damaged pede caught midair, causing him to fall off the rubble. He landed hard on the ground, rolling backwards once. A surprised yelp escaped Ratchet's vocal mechanisms but the sparkling was quick to recover his footing. His fists were curled into tiny balls and his expression was frightened but defiant, as if daring the adult bots to come any closer. The tiny silver protoform frame was as tense as a cornered turbofox. His posture was low and half-way turned, ready to take off running at any astrosecond. He emitted uneasy whines, forcing Ratchet to stop his advance. Jazz chuckled mirthlessly.

"Got some spunk, don't ya?" he said with a sad smile.

Sighing, Ratchet gave the little bot a once over. Even apart from the huge dent on his foot, the sparkling had scratches and dents all over his protoform armour and there seemed to be an energon leak somewhere on his side. Though his expression was still defiant, there was an unmistakable hint of exhaustion in his dim, flickering optics. _Primus, how much has this one's been through already?_

Instead of approaching, he scanned.

_10 - 15 cycles old,_ the scanners read.  
><em>Energy level : 17%<em>  
><em>Energon level : 8%<em>  
><em>No internal damage detected.<em>  
><em>Further scanning required.<em>

_I need to install myself a better damn scanner,_ Ratchet thought as he read the results. No internal damage was fine. 8% energon level was definitely not. There could be a permanent damage to his circuits unless he was refueled and recharged quickly. When Ratchet lowered his scanners, the sparkling was on the defense again. He watched the bigger bots warily, unaware of the real danger sneaking up behind him.

"Gotcha," Jazz vented, scooping up the small silver frame by the scruff.

The saboteur screwed his faceplate as a sharp metallic screech hit his sensitive audios.

"Easy there, little one," he tried to soothe the flailing sparkling. "No one's gonna hurt ya." He pulled the silver bundle close to his spark chamber, rubbing the small helm gently.

The sparkling stopped fighting and curled up into a ball against the warm silver chassis. He was too spent to fight any more, but that did not stop him from keep emitting a soft whine.

Ratchet wasted no time in pulling out a cube filled with concentrated energon from his med kit and pouring it into the sparkling's mouth. _Please not another one_, he prayed silently. _Not one so young._ The war had not been kind to the weak. When the Well became active again, Ratchet was not sure if he should be glad for extra potential warriors or angry about more bots deactivating so early in their lives. Thankfully, the readings on the sparkling improved rapidly. As soon as the cube was emptied, he completely off-lined his optics and fell into recharge.

"Will he be alright?" Jazz asked with a worried look.

"He's just in recharge for now," Ratchet said. "He should be fine after some repairs."

Optimus glanced at the medic. "You look like you need repairs yourself, my friend. Can you transform?"

Ratchet threw a look at Prime and abruptly transformed as way of reply.

"Get him in," he barked, opening a hatch leading to a compartment inside his vehicle mode.

Grinning at the familiar tone, Jazz carefully placed the sparkling inside before flipping into alt form himself.

"Back to Iacon. Stay in the middle, Ratchet," Optimus rumbled in vehicle mode and took lead in front of Ratchet as Jazz covered the rear.

"So... You gonna tell us what happened anytime, Ratch?" he prodded.

—§—

"...and that's when you showed up." Ratchet finished as they entered the sub route to Iacon. Jazz was laughing so hard he was practically bouncing on his wheels in a way Ratchet didn't even want to know how he was doing it.

"Primus almighty," he managed between fits of laughter. "The sparklet tried to kick him... what, three times?"

"You can take out the 'tried to'. Primus only knows how he hit where it mattered at the third."

Jazz's vehicle form zigzagged slightly as he chortled. Ratchet shifted his rear view to keep watch in case the other bot accidentally ran into the wall of the narrow sub-route. Not that he was going to help the saboteur if the latter hurt himself due to his own inattentiveness, no, the medic was only keeping an optic so as not to miss the entertainment it would provide when such event occurred. If Jazz managed to crash into a wall or something, he was definitely _not_ going to get help from the ambulance in front of him.

To Ratchet's inexplicable relief, Jazz soon gained his composure, though he was still bouncing.

"Sounds like we reached there in time," Optimus said. "I have seen that Decepticon in the field. He is not one to be easily defeated and you were already injured by the Underworlder."

"I had it under control."

Optimus knew better than to argue further and let it pass. They were almost there, anyway. The route sloped up and soon the three Autobots were behind the safety of the formidable Iacon walls.

"I'm heading straight to the Medical Center," Ratchet announced.

"Of course. We will see you tomorrow at the meeting."

The medic tore away from the line, leaving the others to go to the command center. He reached the tall, white building that housed all the injured. Rescue jets and helicopters moved in and out, bringing back other wounded Autobots and occasionally some Neutrals who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ratchet drove into his own medical bay and slowly braked, not wanting to startle the life form inside him. As he pulled to a stop, another medic greeted him.

"Ratchet! We were so worried when you didn't come back with the others!"

"I am perfectly fine, Melody."

Ratchet paused, wondering if it was possible for him to transform without waking the sparkling. He decided not to take the risk and opened his hatch.

"Melody, can you get this little one out?" he asked.

Melody's optics widened as she looked inside.

"Is this—?"

"One of the new-sparks, yes," Ratchet replied, a little irritated. "Can you get him out without waking him?"

Melody carefully reached in, but the slightest touch was enough to pull the sparkling out of recharge. He woke with a startled click and looked around frantically. Noticing a pair of big hands trying to grab him, the sparkling panicked and tried to bury himself further inside the compartment. Melody drew back her hands as the little one started kicking at her direction while making distressed sounds.

"Uh, oh, I don't think it's wise for me to get him out," the femme medic said.

"So it would seem," Ratchet sighed.

He transformed back, slowly and deliberately so the still-frightened sparkling would not be thrown out of him but instead end up in his arms. The abrupt change of surroundings did nothing to comfort the little one and it took some time for him to calm down. Melody made a sympathetic clicking noise.

"Both of you could use some repairs and rest," she said softly. "I can look after him while you get fixed yourself."

Ratchet simply shook his head and seated the sparkling on a berth. The little one was looking much perkier than he was at Tyger Pax as he took in the new environment with awe, all previous distress forgotten. It was amazing how swiftly these young processors could be diverted. A medical drone floated above them to assist Ratchet and the sparkling tried to get up for a better look. Ratchet pressed him firmly down, picking up a more delicate sensor.

"No, sit down," he muttered. "You can explore around as much as you'd like _after_ the repairs."

The sparkling obeyed, less because Ratchet was holding him down with a scary look and more because the new device on the medic's hand had caught his attention. His optics tried to follow as the scanning beam roved up and down on his frame.

Ratchet checked the readings and frowned. The scan had detected a particularly nasty wound on the right elbow. There were signs of energon leaks and the marks around it suggested that the sparkling fell and slid some distance on his side. There were also more scratches and dents than Ratchet initially had thought. Wondering what the pit this one had been doing before being discovered, Ratchet started working on the elbow.

_There are enough scratches and dents to warrant a premature upgrade,_ he thought briefly before quickly pushing the thought away. Premature upgrades were never good to a bot's psyche, and adult frame meant joining battles, whichever side he chose. Ratchet was in no rush to introduce a young spark to the horrors of the war, not when it was apparent that the poor thing had already seen too much.

"You are one lucky spark, kid," Melody said, handing a laser scalpel to her colleague. "To have one of the best medics in Cybertron for your first-ever repair." She threw a sly look at said medic.

Ratchet grumbled something incoherent but continued nevertheless. He was soon interrupted again when the sparkling, who had grown bored of watching Ratchet, tried to get up to explore again.

"Oh for the love of—! Stay _still__!"_ He hissed as the sparkling protested with a loud whine.

"So this is why you were late," a gruff voice spoke from behind.

"Ironhide," Ratchet greeted without looking. "How is your leg?"

"I can walk," Ironhide replied, leaning at the door. "Jazz says you got your tailpipe saved by a new-spark." The smirk was all but plastered in his voice.

Ratchet resisted the urge to throw the laser scalpel to the big mech. He would have done so had he not needed that. Melody straightened herself at once.

"What?" she asked, looking from Ironhide to Ratchet and back with interest. Ironhide just shrugged. _Ask him, he knows better._

"Ratchet? What was that?" Melody crossed her arms with a slight smile.

Thankfully for Ratchet, the little patient drew everyone's attention by pointing at the desk with a questioning look and a click. Ratchet stole a glance at his desk, unable to imagine what could possibly catch the sparkling's attention this time. Melody was better at it. She pulled the nameplate that had "**Autobot Chief Medical Officer RATCHET**" written closer to the sparkling.

"Ratchet, that's his name," she said, indicating the medic who had just finished repairing his elbow. The sparkling cocked his head and tried to follow.

"Aa-teh?"

Melody smiled and shook her head gently. "Ratchet," she repeated.

"Hatceh!"

The sparkling spread his arms wide as he chirped, causing Ratchet to nearly drop the scalpel. The medic's curses were drowned by the collective laughter from Melody and Ironhide. Their laugh only served to further encourage the sparkling.

"Hashet, Hatchet! _Hatchet!_"

"Sounds about right," Ironhide chuckled.

This time, Ratchet did throw the scalpel.

—§—

Five breems later, Ratchet was in the process of reattaching the outer shell of the sparkling's pede and Melody was still not done pestering.

"You're really not going to tell me what happened, are you? I _will _find out eventually, Ratchet!"

The other medic paused his work, listening intently on the comms. A smirk appeared on his mouthplates.

"There seems to have been an accident near Perceptor's lab, Melody," he said. "Why don't you head down there and see lend a hand?"

Melody looked as if she could not believe her audio receptors. Then, getting a call herself, she snapped into attention and threw a dirty look at Ratchet.

"Aw, I _will _get you to tell me what happened sooner or later, Ratch! See you, 'Hide!" She transformed and raced out.

Ironhide grinned, limping closer towards the berth. The sparkling made a series of clicking noise as he looked up at the giant red mech curiously, cocking his head. Ratchet shook his head.

"Femmes," he muttered.

Having finished with the pede as well, he started to tend to some of the nasty scratches his young patient had earned himself.

Ironhide asked,

"You thought of his designation?"

The medic's hand paused as he processed the question. At the beginning of the war, many Cybertronians who were formerly nameless took a designation of their choice. Neither Autobots nor Decepticons raised a problem with it. Both factions' leaders did, after all, had bigger problems than that and they were both supposedly fighting for freedom of choice. The real problem arised as the Well started producing new Cybertronians. Since the new-sparks were generally unable to find a designation by themselves, so there was confusion as to who should take the responsibility for the task. Naming a bot was not something to be taken lightly. It could well determine the individual's fate. However, there was also no denying the harsh circumstances. They _were_ in the middle of a war after all, possibly one of the greatest in history.

"That would be a task for his basic training instructor," he finally replied.

Ironhide snorted. "There's only one instructor left in Iacon and he comes up with the worst names I've ever heard," he said.

"You think he would be left in Iacon?"

"We can't very well send him back to near the Well, can we? Praxus Youth Center is currently full and Jazz doesn't trust any other Neutral city states."

"Optimus is calling a meeting about the attack, isn't he?"

The red warrior nodded. "Yes, that and what to do with these younglings. But only after everything is settled down. There's a mass panic about all the lost sparklings near the Well."

Ratchet revved darkly at the thought of more sparklings like the one in front of him being lost in the middle of nowhere. Finishing the repairs, he straightened up and took one last scan in case he missed anything. His little patient was now staring at his own hands, flexing them and shifting the panels on his forearms around.

"There you go, little one," the tired medic said. "Let's get you down to where the others are."

Ironhide intervened.

"I will do that," he rumbled. "You get repaired and some rest yourself."

Before either of them could notice, the sparkling leaped down from the berth without hesitation and landed on all fours.

"By the AllSpark!" Ratchet exclaimed, bending down. "If I have to repair you again so soon—"

But the sparkling quickly stood up, completely unfazed by the fall he just took. He sprinted away from the medic's hands with a series of delighted clicks and whirls.

Ratchet half-groaned, half-sighed and slumped to his chair, trying to ignore the rumbling laughter from Ironhide.


	2. Only Ones Innocent

_Sorry, this isn't as lighthearted or as funny as the previous chapter. I have no idea what happened here. One moment it would be all fluffy and as soon as the major contributor is left out it turns serious. It's hard to keep a light mood in a post-battle meeting like this. Still, I wanted to let people know what in Unicron's armpit is going on, and there is also the matter of the answer. The next one will return to that little bot and will be up real soon._

_Also, I completely suck at political warfare. =.=_

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><p>The last three orns had past with a blur inside Iacon Autobot Headquarters. A surprise attack on any outpost was enough to put the entire base on high alert, and the sudden addition of several sparklings did not help with the situation in the very least. Even with the help of Perceptor's Science Division and the Maintenance bots, the Medical staff barely had time to pop out their own dents. Red Alert had been pulling triple shifts on his monitors, despite the many threats and coaxes from his friend Inferno. The Security Director finally glitched and collapsed at the end of the third shift, much to Ratchet's displeasure.<p>

Optimus shook his head lightly to fend off the exhaustion as he waited for the last of the commanders to enter the meeting room. He had postponed the post-battle debrief for another orn in order to give everyone some time to rest and recover their bearings, but one look around the table confirmed that no one had been able to do so.

The debrief itself was held in a rather subdued fashion. Foam, the femme medic who specialized in youngling care, nearly had a breakdown while reporting that only 20 out of 97 registered younglings in the Center near the Well have been confirmed to be safe and online. There were too many deactivated small frames to count, but the estimation went at least somewhere around 50.

The grim news did not end there, however. Many medics and guards from other Neutral territories had also been killed whilst defending the younglings hidden inside. There were multiple reports that a group of bots had broken in during the attack, taking some of the oldest looking younglings away. Anyone who tried to stop them was deactivated in a violent manner. The intruders wore no faction identification, but it did not take Teletrann-1 to deduce that their attack was somehow related with the Seeker bombings. Had the Autobots arrived a couple cycles late, there might not have been anyone left to save.

The motivation for the attack was, as Jazz stated, obvious; Megatron wanted fresh minds who would be only devoted to his own cause. It was no secret that the Decepticon leader did not like how the majority of newly sparked Cybertronians were seemingly drawn to the Autobot cause without so much as an afterthought. None of Shockwave's ridiculous propaganda seemed to be able to waver their decisions. In Jazz's expression, Megatron intends to "train them as killing machines before they could even tell apart their energon from their lubricant."

These reports were met with various voices of outrage from the assembled commanders. Some went so far as to suggest retaliation, an idea that was immediately shot down by Prime.

"Revenge will achieve nothing," he said in a firm voice. "We must not allow our emotions to get the better of us. For now, we need to focus on the six young Cybertronians we have in Iacon."

"As well as the two unregistered new-sparks Ratchet and I have found respectively," Elita One added.

"What are their conditions?" Ratchet asked, looking at Foam.

The sparkling he had found two orns ago had put up an unholy amount of fuss upon realising that Ratchet was not going to stay with him. It took two magnetic devices, a broken plasma shield and a depressurized lob ball to distract him long enough for Ratchet to beat a hasty retreat to his office.

Foam sighed. "About those we recovered? One is still critical, all are traumatized. Half of them won't stop clinging to us medics while the other half won't let us even touch them. The conditions are worse in other places like Praxus. They are all frightened and distrustful after seeing big bots attack each other and end up harming their own peers."

The femme medic did not quite catch what passed through Ratchet's vocalizer, which was a good thing since her soft spark may not have been able to take such profanities.

"They trusted us to protect them... and we failed," she finished, dropping her head.

For a moment nobody knew what to say.

"One is still in critical condition?" Elita echoed.

Foam's voice was even more muted than usual. "He was caught under a fallen support beam inside the Youth Center. His lower protoform struts are completely unsalvageable. We are preparing for an early frame upgrade once his life signals stabilize."

"Damn," Blaster murmured.

"Still, there are also some good signs," Foam continued, forcing herself to sit up straight. "Five of them have formed a kind of gestalt bond among themselves to cope with the situation. It seems to be working. We may or may not have a combiner on our hands. The two new-sparks also seem to be doing relatively well all things considered. In fact," – she dared a wry smile towards Ratchet, – "I'd say the one _you_ found is the least traumatized, Ratchet. He was happily playing with an electromagnet when I last checked."

Ratchet muttered something about forgetting to check someone's survival protocols. Jazz's visor lit up in amusement as he remembered the cheery sparkling they rescued two orns ago.

"Oh, we've _definitely_ got ta keep that one," he chuckled. "What did ya call him?"

Foam smiled faintly. "Bumblebee."

"Sounds like some organic species," Ironhide commented. The femme tilted one shoulder.

"I forgot who first came up with it and I am not sure what it means either, but the designation seems to suit him just fine."

Optimus cleared his vents to redirect the conversation. "Back to the topic at hand," he said, expertly disguising his own interest. He would ask Foam later in person when he gets the time. "Blaster, have you contacted any Neutral city-states?"

"Praxus, Nova Cronum and Crystal City," the Communications Officer replied at once. "That's how we know 'bout the fourteen other younglings' whereabouts. Stanix and Protihex are yet ta contact us. Rewind is on it, but he says it's a little strange. We couldn't get a fix on either of their Grid. It was as if they were blocking our transmissions."

"Why would they block our transmissions?" Red Alert asked anxiously.

Blaster's answer was cautious. "Stanix could be having another Grid malfunction due to the bombing just before the war, but I'm not sure about Protihex."

"I highly doubt it's just about some stupid Grid malfunction," Jazz said, his visor darkening. Some of the other bots looked startled at the sudden shift in his mood. The Ops commander revved quietly before turning to Optimus. "We've been detecting some unusual activities between the 'cons and Stanix representatives. I couldn't bring it up until we get some real evidence, but it looks like we are too late."

"Are you saying that Stanix is now with the 'cons?" Red Alert demanded, already making plans for numerous altercations in his security network. Perceptor, who was sitting next to him, shot a wary look at the sparks that fizzled on the Security Director's sensory horns and discreetly leaned away.

Jazz waved an impatient hand. "Officially, they're still Neutral," he said. "But that city-state always had far too many 'con sympathizers ta stay like that for much longer. 'Tis only a matter of time before the entire population starts sporting that ugly purple faceplate."

The possibility of losing Stanix to the Decepticons was not a good news for the Autobots. The city-state held one of the major Communication Grid nodes, meaning whoever took control of it could use the node to spread their propaganda throughout the planet. The Autobots had the Hall of Records, and had been enjoying its full advantage on their end. However, the opposing faction had quickly gained support of Polyhex, which held another node. If Stanix defected to the Decepticons as well, it would be that much harder to control the traffic. The fact that the Decepticons had no qualms on being more _creative_ with their propagandas did not help with the situation either.

"We've finally got Praxus to so much as look at us," Blaster said, "and the Decepticons had ta go and get themselves another node. There's no telling what kind of ludicrous tales Shockwave might come up with now. If there's a way ta hijack the entire Grid through the Hall–"

As if on cue, the door opened to admit the ancient but regal form of Alpha Trion, causing Blaster to clamp his mouthplates shut with a sheepish look. Optimus stood up at once, his spark sinking. The Archivist never interrupted military meetings unless it was urgent.

"Alpha Trion! To what do we owe this honour?"

"Sit down, Optimus," Alpha Trion said, nodding to the others to do the same. "I am merely here to inform that there is someone who wishes to speak to you."

He handed his former student a datapad with the requested frequency before taking up a spare seat next to Blaster, who shifted uncomfortably. Recognizing the frequency at once, Optimus' optics narrowed into angry slits – a sign which Jazz read all too well.

"Need some privacy?" he drawled, leaning back on his seat with a faint smirk.

Prime shook his head, blissfully oblivious to what his friend may be suggesting. "No, stay. This should be interesting."

Optimus switched on the Communication Grid and set it so only he would be seen on the other side of the connection. The screen in the front of the room flickered to life and recalibrated to match the frequency. A massive grey mech with sharp jagged armour showed up, inciting furious shouts and snarls from other Autobot commanders. Optimus silenced them with a stern look before turning to greet the enemy faction's leader.

"Megatron."

"Optimus," the Decepticon responded with a sinister smile that did not quite reach his optics. "It has been a while."

"Indeed, it has," Optimus said. Not wanting to draw this out any more than he had to, the Prime cut out all mock pleasantries and dove straight to business. "The last time we spoke in a civil manner, I seem to remember us agreeing to a certain treaty concerning the future of our race."

Megatron's expression did not waver at all when he answered, "Oh, yes, we did. I remember that too. No military activities from both factions within two hundred klick radius of the Well, correct?"

Fury flared up in Optimus' spark as he was temporarily at a loss for words at the sheer audacity of the statement. So, the warlord was fully aware of the pact and the reasons for it, yet he still called an attack that broke said pact and had the bearings to contact them to gloat about it?

"Yes, that was _exactly_ our agreement," he said, struggling to keep his voice level. "It had been set a mere two vorns ago, until your Seekers shattered it to pieces."

"Now, now. Let us not jump into conclusions, shall we? I had no control on Starscream's actions, but it would seem that he merely wanted to warn you not to take our pact so lightly. You see, it was our impression that you have been spying on us, which, I believe falls under the category of 'military activities'."

Everyone turned to look at the Head of Special Operations and Intelligence, who had grown rigid. All previous traces of humour gone, he let his chair down with a crash and clenched his fists defensively.

"None of my mechs did such thing," Jazz snarled.

Optimus looked back at the screen, intending to give his Second-in-Command the benefit of a doubt. After all, this would not be the first time Megatron tried to discredit his friend. "Do you have any proof for such accusation?"

"Even if I show you proof, all you need do is deny, is it not?" Megatron replied in a casual tone. "What I will say is this; Soundwave's surveillance caught one of your bots overstepping Autobot boundaries. That mech was, of course, immediately neutralized on sight, which I am sure your Intelligence Officer could attest to. In the future, I advise you not to underestimate our abilities, particularly our spymaster's. There is very little that Soundwave misses."

Optimus stole a glance at his friend, who was glowering at the screen with no small amount of hatred. He did vaguely recall hearing that one of the Special Operations agents had been brutally attacked during patrol. At the time they were unsure if it was just another Underworlder or something else, so Jazz had promised a full report on the incident as soon as they get to the bottom of it. Apparently that was no longer necessary now.

Before Optimus could respond, Jazz spoke up loudly enough so his voice was conveyed through the connection.

"I will take that advice ta the spark," he said, "and thank ya for only neutralizing my bot as a lesson, not deactivating him. Apparently you 'cons ain't all sparkless drones as I first thought. I will be sure ta make a _thorough_ investigation about his actions as well as the reasons behind."

The smirk in Megatron's faceplate vanished at the news that his assassins had failed to completely terminate the supposed spy. Whatever secret that bot saw will live on to become useful information for the Autobots. Jazz relaxed marginally at the tyrant's expression, now certain that there was something significant about the intel. After half a breem of visible internal struggling, Megatron finally turned his attention back to Optimus.

"It would do well for you to remember that Cybertronians are no longer as blind as they were towards your predecessor, Optimus Prime," Megatron said. "The authorities in Stanix and Protihex are deeply disappointed that you have discarded our trust and jeopardized our future for the sake of gaining petty intels. Ratbat from the High Council has also expressed disappointment, saying that Halogen must have been mistaken that orn at the High Council Tower."

It was clear to everyone present that the former gladiator was now trying to exploit Optimus' insecurity about his new position. It would have affected the young Prime much worse in the beginning of the war and as a result affect the outcomes of each battle. However, Optimus had grown older and wiser since then. Every orn, every battle was a harsh lesson, reminding what kind of responsibility he now had.

He had also been spending more time in Jazz's company than before, whose wisecracking personality tended to rub off on other bots he worked with.

"I concur that he made a mistake," Optimus replied evenly, "a mistake of not keeping a force field set up and a body guard to defend him in time. Who knew that the mighty gladiator from Kaon would resort to surprise attacks to murder the most respective member of the High Council?"

Some of those in the room bit back harsh laughs. Megatron's optics turned several shades darker at the thinly veiled insult. Feeling strangely satisfied, Optimus continued on without giving the 'con on the other side any chance to retort. He reached for the control pad, ready to terminate the transmission.

"Do take good care of the young ones you saw fit to take with you," he said. "No point in denying that – we have more than a few witnesses. As you said for yourself, Cybertronians are no longer as blind as they once may have been. Should it be known that the Decepticons have been abusing the very future of our race, you will have more than just the Autobots to answer to."

"Oh, they are all sent to other Neutral city-states," Megatron replied with his smirk back in place, though Optimus could not help but notice it was a little more forced. "Where they will be free of your taint. We too, know that you have at least three hidden in Iacon yourself. Do make sure to send them to the designated Neutral city-states as we promised to do so two vorns ago. That part of the treaty still stands. I assure you, we have ways of knowing if it is done or not."

Optimus' hand hovered above the control panel. _Three._ They did not know the exact number. Unless Megatron was feigning ignorance, that could mean that none of the Neutral city-states that Blaster contacted trusted the Decepticons enough to compromise that piece of intel.

"We will contact them once the sparklings are stable enough to be transported," he said carefully. They will be sent to Youth Centers that are not already full." _Such as Crystal City._

"Protihex can still take in a few more, I hear."

"Protihex can go suck its exhaust pipe," Jazz muttered, gaining murmurs of assent from a couple others.

"I will... consider it," Optimus replied. Without further ado, he cut off the line.

Several roars of bottled-up outrage burst out from multiple directions. Foam was a blubbering mess of relief that there were at least a few more young Cybertronians who survived the skirmish. Knowing that his officers would calm down once he start speaking, Optimus made no attempt to quiet them but looked at the only bot who kept his usual laid-back facade.

"Jazz," he started carefully. As he expected, the room quieted at once. Jazz, of course, knew what was coming.

"I did not send any bots ta _spy_ out there," he said in a cool, detached voice. "Ya would know about it if I did. My division is busy enough as it is without adding useless missions like spying some tiny passive 'con outpost by the Well. Burst was just sent out there for the protection of our own, and ta keep an optic out just in case the 'cons tried something stupid." His gaze shot towards Foam. "Ya requested it."

The femme dropped her gaze. "I, I know I did. One of the Neutral medics hinted at me to be on alert and we didn't have many bots who can fight so... I didn't know that would cause him to..." She faltered, remembering that orn.

The bot had returned absolutely slagged to pit. Everyone was sure he was already deactivated and thought they were bringing in his lifeless husk until the scanners detected a faint spark signature. The junior medics who brought him back to Iacon had all been given an audioful from their CMO for giving up hope so quickly.

Jazz dragged in a deep breath to calm himself, crossing his arms. "He's still alive and kicking, so don't worry about him. At least now we know who did that ta him. From what we've found so far, he was investigating something just beyond our borders when someone attacked from behind."

"So it was the 'cons who struck first then?" Ultra Magnus asked.

Jazz pursed his mouthplates, thinking how best to answer the question. In a way, Burst did end up spying something he was not supposed to. However, Jazz felt the need to defend the mech from further reprimand, because that was essentially how they realised something was going on between Stanix and the Decepticons. In any case, not every commander needed to know all the glory details of what was going on in that grey area of Special Operations. Missions including but not limited to spying, sabotaging and sometimes even assassinations did not always go well with general Autobot rules.

In the end the saboteur just said, "It's neither here nor there." Noticing that Magnus was not at all satisfied, he elaborated. "I admit Burst shouldn't have crossed our boundaries, no matter why he did it. But then the 'cons shouldn't have been able to attack him like that when he was nowhere near _their_ outpost, and the Neutral soldiers guarding the area should have been better at their jobs. In case ya forgot, there was not supposed to be any unsupervised contact between all three parties in that area. If Burst wasn't given a reason ta go over, or if it were the Neutrals who found him overstepping first, none of this mess would have happened." He paused, then corrected himself by saying, "well, the attack would have happened eventually but then at least Buckethead won't be able to use our activities as an excuse."

"In short, we are _all_ at fault, except for those younglings who got caught in the crossfire," Ratchet concluded.

"That does not justify the Seeker attack," Elita One said passionately. "They thought they had killed the spy. After that, they could have just given us a warning, one that does not include massacring everyone by the Well."

"As Jazz pointed out, Burst was likely just an excuse," Optimus said. "With nearly 70 percent of this latest generation committing itself to our cause, it was only a matter of time until something of this nature happened."

"Still, we should not have given them _any_ excuse int the first place," Ultra Magnus argued, staring pointedly at Jazz. The saboteur's mouthplates formed a thin line as he bit back a sharp retort at what the former Elite Guard was implying.

Optimus quickly intervened before Jazz could snap. "Now the remaining problem is what to do with the eight younglings currently in Iacon."

"We cannot send them anywhere," Foam spoke up at once. "Not in their current condition. They are finally starting to feel a little safe around us. Relocating them to yet another unfamiliar place will only worsen their trauma."

"Iacon Youth Center has not been used for deca-vorns," Ultra Magnus countered. "We all know that the Well of AllSparks had grown dormant in the very beginning of the war and was only reactivated several vorns ago. It is an absolute mess there. Also, Iacon is in constant danger of attacks and various infiltration attempts. This is not an ideal place to raise sparklings."

The debate went back and forth for a while with no sign of progress. Optimus kept himself carefully neutral, assessing the other commanders' opinions and reasoning. Red Alert and Perceptor were with Magnus, whereas Elita One and Jazz backed up Foam. Ironhide was leaning towards Foam's suggestion, though he kept his opinions mostly to himself and let the debate fold out on its own. Blaster was not sure about either side, while Ratchet was torn between. The CMO was more concerned about the number of eligible, responsible caretakers among the Autobots than anything.

When the hologram of Iacon Youth Center was shown to discuss its usability, both sides gained one more voices with Ratchet declaring the place irredeemable and Ironhide reminding everyone that it does not take an entire slagging complex to accommodate eight younglings. Alpha Trion, who had not spoken a single word during the whole time, backed up Ironhide's statement by pointing out that there was a derelict training range they could use.

"I remember that one!" said Red Alert. "It's on the East wing of the base. I had it closed off because it was massive and posed too much of a security hazard." He sent a panicked look towards Prime. "We can't reopen that!"

Jazz groaned, burying his faceplate in his hands.

It all turned out to be a moot point, however; Blaster had received a message from Rewind that only Crystal City is willing to take more in their Youth Center, since Nova Cronum refused to take any more responsibility.

"They don't want ta spare more militia ta protect new sparklings after that attack," Blaster relayed the message. "They're worried about getting retaliated."

"Cowards," Ironhide muttered.

"Does that mean our only other option is Protihex?" asked Perceptor.

"Well, that and Stanix. Rewind tells me they've both contacted to say they have... ah, _'plenty of space'_ available."

"We are _not_ sending those sparklets ta Protihex or Stanix," Jazz said firmly. "We send them there now, we might as well be handing them over directly ta the Decepticons. We'll see them again within two vorns, on the other side of the field acting as a cannon fodder."

Foam shuddered at the thought.

Optimus vented deeply, at war with himself. Taking in the younglings would automatically make them Autobots. While they _could_ use some extra warriors, Prime was worried if any of those innocent minds would later resent being robbed of their choice of faction. What if one of them wanted to stay Neutral, or preferred the Decepticon ideals? Should they not be given a chance to choose as well? On the other hand, not taking them in would jeopardize the very lives of the bots he was trying to protect.

"We should take them in, Optimus."

He looked up to meet Elita One's bright, passionate optics.

"Nothing can have more value than those young lives," she continued. "We can give them a chance to leave peacefully if they so wish to. Hoist and Grapple would gladly renovate that old training range into something that can accommodate eight younglings. I can spare some bots from my division for their protection and educations. There are also bound to be those who are unable in the field but would like to be of service. Eight younglings are nothing we cannot raise in Iacon."

"Do we even have a choice anymore?" Ratchet asked sarcastically.

The femme commander smiled. "Not really."

"Fragging brilliant."

"Very well, then," Optimus said, having made up his mind. "Perceptor, tell Hoist and Grapple to start planning for the renovation. Should they require any help in supplies and such, send me the report and we will see what we can do. Elita, see if you can track down some of our old-timers. Kup, for instance."

"On it."

"This will mean a massive change in my security network!" Red Alert was practically whining.

"My division will help protecting those younglings in the meantime, so do not worry about their safety," Elita One said, smiling sweetly.

"That concludes this meeting," Optimus announced, standing up. He beckoned to two of his lieutenants. "Jazz, Ultra Magnus – if you will, please." He moved towards the Communication terminal at a corner while the others left.

Jazz sighed as he rounded the table to the Autobot leader. "If this is about Burst–"

"No," Prime said. "You have my full trust on that account. This is about something else." Seeing Magnus join them, he started. "In our last exchange, you all saw that Megatron had made it clear he will be sure to know whether the three younglings we supposedly have are transported to a Neutral city-state or not."

"Oh, _that._"

"I fear if he finds out that we intend to protect these sparklings in Iacon, the consequences would be less than pleasant."

"If Megatron intends to attack Iacon for that reason, we will be ready for it," said Ultra Magnus.

"I really hope it doesn't come ta that yet," said Jazz. "He probably won't attack just because of that, though. It makes the 'cons look bad and lose potential allies. He still wants ta get Praxus, and he wants it intact like he did Tarn."

"There is no guarantee, though. Since when has Megatron cared about what others thought of him?"

"No," the saboteur agreed. "That's just what I think. There's no telling what's going on in that deranged processor of his."

Optimus pondered for a moment, replaying the exchange in his memory files. He glanced at the saboteur. "What are the chances that there is a spy among our ranks?"

Jazz gave the question a little thought before answering. "If there was a spy in Iacon Headquarters, Megs would have waited 'till he got the right number before calling ya. It's not really a secret among us that we have more than three sparklings."

"Then you think he intends to find out solely through Soundwave?"

The saboteur shrugged. "That's what a spymaster is for, ain't it? If we ever manage ta kill Soundwave, we'd win the war in a vorn. And half of the credit will go to Starscream."

Since they were yet to come up with a plan to take out Megatron's most loyal lieutenant, they needed to come up with a plan to keep the younglings' presence inside Iacon hidden from the outside for a while.

"What do you suggest, sir?" asked Ultra Magnus.

For an astrosecond, Optimus wondered if this strict mech would agree to his idea when he himself was slightly uncomfortable. "We need to at least appear to be making good of our promise. If not to the Decepticons, then to the other Neutrals. We must avoid giving the Decepticons any excuse that could be even remotely valid."

Jazz grinned wickedly, seeing where this was going at once. "Elita One is a bad influence on ya, Optimus."

The Autobot leader just rolled his optics, resisting the urge to say Elita was not the one with bad influence. "A convoy," he continued instead, "escorting three younglings towards one of the Neutral city-states."

"And you need the Wreckers to guard it during the journey in case someone attacked," Magnus said, catching on as well. Optimus nodded.

"A convoy with younglings except _without_ the younglings," Jazz said. "I like it. And we should make sure there are some 'con witnesses somehow or it'd be all for naught."

"How are we to achieve that?" Magnus asked. "Once they see the convoy, one scan for spark signatures is all it takes to realise there are no hidden younglings."

"That is one of our problems," Prime said, glancing at his Head of Special Operations hopefully.

Jazz frowned, already thinking up dozens of ideas. "We'll come up with something," he said airily. "I just need ta talk about it with a few of my mechs. I'll have the solution on your desk by... tomorrow evening. The real problem is where to 'send' it, since we would obviously need the cooperation of the target Neutral city-state. Praxus is an ideal place, since the bots there are strong-willed, but it would be suspicious ta send younglings to an already-full Youth Center."

"We will have to gain the cooperation of Crystal City," Magnus suggested. "One of my fellow Elite Guards is hailed from there. I should be able to convince him to help."

This coming from Magnus was rather unexpected, but Optimus took the offer without question. "Good," he said. "It goes without saying that this operation should remain classified."

"That's a given."

"Of course."

After exchanging quick salutes to each other, the trio dispersed into different directions. Optimus headed down to the Medical Center, Magnus went out to track down that friend of his, and Jazz made a beeline for his quarters, intent on catching up some recharge.


	3. Failed Mission

_Just a heads up; there is a mention of an Autobot who shares the same name as one of the Rescue Bots. He, like everyone else here who doesn't show up in TFP, is based on G1 version of the character. They share the same name but radically different personalities. I have nothing against Rescue Bots, I just need that version of the character for future story arcs._

* * *

><p>There were so many bots bustling around on the other side of the room. And it looked <em>fun.<em>

Standing on the tip of his pedes, Bumblebee peered through the gap on the fence that confined him and the other younglings to one corner of the training range. He did not know what those bigger bots were doing, but they had many fancy tools and seemed to be enjoying themselves. For the fifth time that cycle alone, Bumblebee leaped up, grabbing onto the top of the fence and tried to climb over it. For the fifth time, his pedes failed to find any purchase on the smooth white surface and the sparkling fell back down on his tailpipes.

He glanced back warily at the three adult bots, but they were all too occupied to notice him at the moment. The big scary-looking mech was focused on painting Streetwise, while Foam and another Caretaker were overseeing the process. Two of Streetwise's brothers were huddled close together to give him moral support, while the other two were still trying to decide which colour scheme they wanted.

Being the first to go through that process, Bumblebee's own yellow and black paint had long since dried up as well as the protective outer coating. The youngest bot had no intention of joining the others' paint-watching party when waiting for his own paint job to dry had been boring enough. So, he turned back to give that pesky fence a challenging look instead.

The fence, despite being just a fence, did not look particularly impressed at the tiny bot's glare. Feeling a little insulted, the yellow sparkling made a frustrated sound. He took a step back and craned his neck to look over the barrier separating him from fun.

At the far end of the room, one of the adults suddenly popped up into his line of sight above the fence. Bumblebee tilted his head to a side as he watched the rust-coloured bot seemingly float around, trying to attach something to the ceiling. He stepped forwards, once again squinting through the gap he had been using before to get a better look at the grand secret of flight.

Ah. So the rust-coloured bot was not 'flying', but in fact it was someone else holding him up from below. Bumblebee drew back from the fence, wondering how he had not thought of that before. He looked around at the others to see who he might be able to convince to help.

Streetwise's painting was finished and he was standing on a side, reflecting himself on the mirror set up next to them. It was Blades' turn for a paint, and he was complaining loudly about the shading of the colours. The scary looking mech did not seem at all pleased at the complaints and was slowly developing an even scarier look on his faceplate, putting the other two adult bots on edge. On another side of the corner, Blurr was talking non-stop with a mixture of words and nonsensical clicks to an ever-patient Kup. Next to the pair was Tincross, whose abnormally big frame was curled up into recharge. After darting between the two parties, Bumblebee's large optics found the perfect solution sitting innocuously in the middle.

The yellow and black went to the lob ball that was almost the same size as he was and patted on it happily. This would do.

He started rolling the ball towards the fence and had nearly reached his destination when there was a loud clatter as something heavy fell on the other side. Everyone in the training range jumped in surprise and turned their heads towards the source of the commotion. Only Bumblebee, who was trying to clamber up the big ball, did not so much as flinch at the noise. He would get to see once he was on top.

The mech in charge of the younglings' paint jobs stood up and took out his pent-up annoyance at the bots responsible for the accident.

"Will you keep it down? I'm trying to do a very delicate work here!"

"Yeah," one of them responded loudly. "As if we're not doing any of these heavy lifting and tough work, you lousy piece of cold sla–"

"Dogfight!" Kup roared, covering Blurr's audials. "Watch your vocalizer!"

Neither Dogfight nor the scary looking mech appeared to have heard the old-timer and continued to sprout off colourful words that none of the younglings could understand. Some of the onlookers attempted to quell the argument, which only served to further escalate the noise level. The younglings for their part, found the whole situation quite entertaining, something that was not helped by the rust-coloured bot blundering with his tools and falling off his partner in the background.

Bumblebee made full use of the distraction, and managed to climb up on top of the ball without drawing any attention to himself. Once he had gained a stable footing on top of it, the yellow and black wasted no time in hopping over the fence and dropping down on the other side. He landed neatly on his pedes with a light 'tap'. Easy.

Now that he was finally free to explore the room, Bumblebee's attention was immediately drawn to a massive door that he could not see through the gap on the fence. The door was stuck, and it was stuck _open._

Without pausing to think, he folded into the alt-form he had learned to assume a few orns ago and drove straight towards the door. If the noise level was not so high, anyone would have been able to hear the small sparkling clicking in anticipation and excitement. As it stood, no one noticed that suddenly there were only seven younglings instead of eight inside the training range.

– § –

Outside was a completely new world compared to the dull, dusty training range. Bumblebee transformed back to bi-pedal mode and trotted on, looking around his surroundings as he went. Everywhere he saw there were bots with different frame types, all chattering among themselves or walking brusquely. They were all too busy to notice the small sparkling with vibrant yellow painting wandering on his own in the corridors.

Bumblebee paused on his tracks, pondering for a moment on where to go. He had been so focused on just getting out that he did not think about what to do afterwards. Around him, mechs of various colour schemes passed by.

Blue. Red. Black. Brown. White...

White.

White and orange.

Hatchet.

That's right, he could go see Hatchet. He had not seen that white bot for a long time now. In fact, now that Bumblebee thought of it, he did not think he had seen Hatchet ever since the first time they met. He resumed walking, his processor whirring to figure out why that was. Was Hatchet hurt? Or perhaps he was just unable to find the training range? Oh well, Bumblebee shrugged, quickening his pace. He would find out soon enough.

To Hatchet it is, then.

He walked for another breem, sticking close to the wall to avoid getting tripped over. Just as he rounded another corner, a strange sight greeted him. Everyone in the hallway had flattened themselves against either side of the walls. Bumblebee followed suit with a curious expression. He felt the ground rumble ominously and peered around.

Up ahead, five of the largest bots he had ever seen in his life were running down hall.

"Clear the path!" someone yelled, causing Bumblebee to jump backwards. He toppled into an open crate that was just behind him and was buried amidst white cleaning cloths and berth sheets. Dazed, he watched as the hulking mechs thundered by.

"Stupid Coalition with stupid name," a gruff voice grumbled from outside.

"I dunno why Prime tolerates them," another voice answered. "They are a set of ticking time bombs ready to blow up at any astrosecond."

"It's still better that they're with us rather than the 'cons. Can you imagine what it'd be like if we had to fight them as well?"

"What's the difference? We already fight them _inside_ here often enough."

Bumblebee made a muffled yelp when the crate was suddenly lifted and started moving before he could climb back out. He poked his head out of the sheets to see what was going on.

Whoever it was carrying the crate did not seem to mind the fact that its load had suddenly gained an extra weight. Bumblebee tapped on what he perceived to be the arm. The only response he got was a soft clicking sound. Strange. No big bots talked like that. However, Bumblebee was beginning to feel a little tired, so he contended to sit back and enjoy the free ride for the time being.

They took a turn and soon entered a more secluded area where other drones of various functions were milling around. They acknowledged each other with electronic bursts as they passed by. Bumblebee, not wanting to be rude, tried to mimic those clicks as best as he could and was rewarded by friendly responding bleeps.

The drone carrying him climbed up a narrow catwalk that was for drone-use only and moved along it without a hitch. From inside his crate, Bumblebee could look down below and see through the holes in the catwalk where everyone else was running about. Pure excitement surged in his spark when he realised that _they_ could not see him. Not unless they looked very carefully above, which, no one ever did. Bumblebee decided that when he get a frame upgrade, maybe he should stick to the small frame types so he could keep visiting these hidden passages.

Feeling that he had sufficiently rested inside the crate, the yellow and black gave his carrier a grateful pat and tumbled out of it. The drone stopped and scanned its vicinity to check if it had dropped something, but Bumblebee was already out of range. He strolled along the maze of catwalks aimlessly, often climbing up and down the slopes. Once in a while his path would take him to dark tunnels where they passed through walls and a few rooms, but most of the time he could see the hallways spanned out below, allowing him to continue his search for a certain white bot. He did not notice that he was gradually taking more downwards turn than upwards.

After some unknown time of walking and driving, Bumblebee reached a dead end at a particularly long tunnel. He made an irritated click. Well, this was inconvenient. Now he had to retrace his steps all the way back to the last intersection. He glared at the troublesome wall the same way he glared at that fence back in the training range.

The wall reacted almost the same way as that fence, only this time it actually had an optic to stare back.

Wait, that wasn't right.

A small frown pulled on the tiny faceplate as Bumblebee examined the wall more carefully. Why would a wall have an optic?

He clicked questioningly, reaching up to touch the red light. As if as an answer, the light flickered once and the wall suddenly opened up, revealing another hidden room behind. Excited to have found another secret, Bumblebee entered without hesitation. As soon as he was through, however, the wall closed off on its own, trapping the sparkling inside, and the 'room' started moving downwards.

Now just a tiny bit scared, Bumblebee assumed alt-mode in case he needed to make a run for it. Although not nearly as fast as Blurr, Bumblebee felt he could outrun most anything with some luck and clever maneuvers. He also had the experience even before gaining wheels. He was _fine._ The lift came to a stop, and the door opened again.

On the other side of the door, stood a large tin can-like figure with various spindly apparatus sprouting off its sides and a single blue band for an optic.

Bumblebee screeched loudly and bolted out, knocking off the tin can-like drone aside as he went. In his haste, he did not hear the drone go _'wheeee'_ as it reeled around on the spot, nor did he see the exit hatch growing bigger and bigger until he collided into it headlong. The sparkling rolled on the floor a few times as he returned to bi-pedal mode, rubbing at his front bumper. Luckily, the hatch opened outwards and was already slightly unhinged due to lack of maintenance, so the damage was not as severe as it could have been. His armour upgrades had also helped.

He heard a distant sound of footsteps coming and, not yet having overcome his panic, quickly scampered into the first hiding place he could find.

_"...missile-proof forcefield, EM shielding and an option to block scans,"_ someone was saying. _"So what do they need this beauty for?"_

_"Eh, you know how them Spec Ops are like. They won't tell even me much either apart from what kinds of scrap they need. I don't even know what half of those devices are for."_

_"Ah, well. 'S long as they bring it back in one piece, I'm fine with it. C'mon, let's get it up to them."_

Bumblebee did not quite get everything that was being discussed out there, but he did know that his hiding place, whatever it was, was pleasantly warm on the inside. The sudden exertion back there had also left him incredibly tired. Snuggling up behind one of the complicated-looking devices, Bumblebee exhaled in content and quietly fell into light recharge.

– § –

Foam was beside herself with worry. She endlessly berated herself for not keeping a better optic at the sparkling who was far too inquisitive for his own good. Honestly, she had no idea how Bumblebee, the smallest of all the younglings, managed to escape when the fence was almost as high as Tincross, whose early frame upgrade made him the tallest. She thought she would only have to make sure Tincross did not get out but it turns out that she had been completely wrong on that account.

The medic paced around the security room, waiting as Inferno and Jazz scourged through the recorded footages from all the security cameras nearby their makeshift Youth Center.

"There he is," Inferno said, pausing one of the recordings and zooming in on the yellow speck just next to a delivery drone. "I think I missed him because Grimlock's team was wreaking havoc all over the place at the time. Like that."

He unpaused the footage.

Foam made a whimpering sound when the entire team of Lightning Strike Coalition thundered by just next to the tiny sparkling. "Those irresponsible... they could have crushed him!" she squeaked.

Her fear heightened when the Coalition had passed and Bumblebee was no longer in sight "Where did he go? Is he swept away with them? Oh, Primus, what has happened to him!"

"No, look carefully," Inferno said, reversing the footage with practiced ease. "He fell into that crate right there. See? That drone picked him up. I think it's the one with the medical supplies."

"And can ya just imagine Ratch's faceplate if he found out that his requested supplies had an extra surprise?" Jazz drawled. Inferno chuckled lightly while Foam looked aghast.

"This is no laughing matter, Jazz!" she cried. "I am going to call Ratchet right now."

"It ain't gonna be that easy, Foam," Jazz replied. "Look at the time stamp. That drone would have made it to the Medical Center at least two cycles ago. Ratchet would have commed ya by now if he found 'Bee inside his supplies."

The medic made a strange, strangled noise as it dawned on her that the lost sparkling could be anywhere in the base. Jazz vented, feeling pity for her. He really did not envy the femme for taking charge of all those younglings. Looking after them for an orn was one thing, taking full responsibility for their well-being until they upgraded to adult frames was another story.

A comm. from Mirage informed Jazz that they were almost ready to leave and that his presence was needed. The Head of Spec Ops sent back a reply and then sent another message to one of his mechs who was not taking part in their mission.

"Anyway, I gotta go now," he told the others in the security room. "Don't worry, Foam. I've called Nightbeat. He'll be here any breem and find little 'Bee in no time."

"Good luck, Jazz!" Inferno called after him. Jazz waved back jauntily before transforming and racing off to where his team was waiting.

"Took you long enough," Mirage commented upon seeing the sleek, black and white vehicle mode that transformed back to his commander.

"Sorry, I got held up back at the security room," Jazz said, giving the trailer they would be 'escorting' a measuring look. "No 'cons were detected anywhere within a thousand klicks from the walls, although that hardly means anything. What about here? Are we good ta go?"

"Tip-off was just activating the beacons. Ratchet and Prime are on their way with the Wreckers for a final check-up on everything."

"And all three beacons are activated!" Tip-off announced, hopping out of the trailer. He rubbed his dim optics as he spoke. "The signals will stabilize on their own within a few breems."

"And the dampeners?"

"All set."

"Good."

"Dampeners? Isn't that a bit of an overkill?" one of the bots asked Jazz in a low voice. "We already have two high-ranking officers on this fraud."

"If we're gonna make a show, better make it a good one," Jazz replied. "Besides, the dampeners are more for our return journey than anything. Surveillance may not have found anything, but I have a feeling we'll be attacked on our way back."

Of course, there was a hidden sub-route they could use for more stealth but that was for emergency use only. Jazz did not want to risk Soundwave finding out about that passage just yet. Something told him it would come in handy during later battles.

He took one of the signal dampeners from Tip-off and attached it under his chest armour. The goal was to make it harder to determine the exact number just by scanning from afar. The false signals from the beacons would make it appear as if there was someone inside, but the dampeners will make everything appear as a single, blurred out line. Hopefully the 'cons who were watching would refrain from attacking, and if one of them came too close... well, Mirage was not one of the best sharpshooters in Iacon for nothing. Jazz gave a testing scan on the trailer, and found that the readings were a little high.

"Tip-off!" he called. "Are ya sure ya got the right settings? The signals are a bit stronger than I thought."

"That's because the beacons are yet to adjust with each other's' resonance," Tip-off answered. "They will return to normal in time."

"Huh."

Jazz was getting an uneasy feeling that he was missing something here, but he decided to wait until Ratchet comes. At least Tip-off was not as prone to explosions as some other engineers.

– § –

A strange, uncomfortable feeling in his spark chamber caused Bumblebee to wake up. The strange device he had taken refuge behind was now humming softly, emitting a faint blue glow on the top. There were two more such devices, all interlinked with a tangled mess of cables. Bumblebee revved his engines, trying to throw off the constricting sensation but the feeling just kept getting worse.

He looked down at his chassis. Was it because of that hit he took back there?

There were voices coming from outside.

_"What's taking them so long? We'll never make it back until tomorrow at this rate!"_

_"Relax. Even after the final check-up, we still need to wait for the all-clear from Crystal City outpost to roll out. What's the big hurry anyway?"_

_"He's got a date tomorrow, that's why."_

Bumblebee cocked his head at the third voice. He knew that voice. Where he heard it, however, he could not remember. Fog was filling in his processor, making the sparkling feel drowsy again despite the recharge.

_"I'm not!" _the first voice exclaimed, while several voices went _'ooh'_.

_"Now, now, that's nothing ta be ashamed of, 'Gate,"_ the familiar voice continued to tease. _"We all gotta find at least something bright in this pit-forsaken war."_

_"Jazz,"_ a fourth voice cut through the short bout of laughter in clipped tones. _"Jazz, I'm reading four signals here."_

Jazz. Yes, Bumblebee had definitely heard that designation somewhere, but he still could not pinpoint when or where. It was all a hazy mist right now.

_"What?" _the familiar voice replied, turning sharp at once. There was a short pause before he spoke again. _"Fraggit, you're right. Tip-off, did ya put in another beacon?"_

_"No, only three. I don't know why there would be four..."_

_"Stand back."_

_"Uh, Mirage?" _the second voice said nervously._ "I don't think you should–"_

The door opened and bright light burst into the trailer. Bumblebee flickered his optics, staring blindingly at the sudden light. Once his optics adjusted to the change, he could make out a lean figure peering at him. Surprise shot through the blue and white mech's faceplate before it was replaced by a tilted smirk.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he said softly, reaching inside to pick up the sparkling. All the constricting feeling and the haziness evaporated as Bumblebee moved away from the humming devices. He shook his head lightly to get rid of any remaining fogginess.

Outside, Mirage lifted the small yellow bundle and asked. "Okay, who let _this_ beacon inside?"

Five, blank gazes met Bumblebee, but Bumblebee only had optics for the nearest bot. He made a trilling sound and waved his arms, overjoyed to see a familiar faceplate at last for the first time in cycles. It was not exactly who he was looking for, but he was still very glad. Jazz's reaction could be summed up by three words and a name.

"What the frag? Bumblebee!"

Visor bleaching from blue to white, he hurried forwards to take Bumblebee in his arms and examine the sparkling before turning around to glare furiously at Tip-off.

"Why the pit is there a _sparkling_ inside?" the Ops commander hissed.

Tip-off's normally dim optics had become completely white for the first time in centuries. He failed to find any words.

"I don't... how..."

"Don't ya know what could have happened if he was left in there for another breem? There's a reason why we had ta put in no less than _six_ dampeners in there, for Primus' sake!"

"Well, we'd have finally managed to make Foam pull a Ratchet on us," someone else replied dryly. "Which, by itself is a remarkable achievement, but not what I'd like to die for."

Tip-off finally found his voice.

"I swear, there was nobody inside when I first picked up the trailer from the underground bunker!" he cried. "I don't know when he could have gotten inside!"

Jazz opened his mouthplates, but stopped himself from saying whatever it was that he was about to say. He could hear the others coming and knew exactly how Bumblebee being here would look like to the other commanders.

Being in no mood to get into another row with Ultra Magnus right now, Jazz took a few steps to the opposite direction. He pulled the yellow bot closer to his chassis, worried at how quiet and still Bumblebee was. "Ratchet is coming," he said. "Mirage, can I count on ya ta cover up for me while I get this sparklet back ta Foam?"

"All in the right price."

Jazz snorted. "Fine, take whatever brew that's left. I'll be right back."

Without looking back, Jazz took off running back to the base, comming the femme medic on his way. Bumblebee remained silent for the most part, but he soon started squirming again. Jazz had to readjust his grip several times to keep the sparkling from falling off.

He skidded to a halt upon seeing Foam sprinting towards them in an equal speed.

"Bumblebee!" Foam cried out, taking the sparkling, who now had a very displeased look on his faceplate, away from Jazz. She scanned the little yellow frame thoroughly, fretting over every single scratches and dents.

Bumblebee vented in such a dramatic way that was almost comical for a sparkling. To Foam, it was a sound of relief after going through a terrifying ordeal, but to Jazz it sounded as if the youngling was just exasperated at the medic's excessive fretting. The saboteur wisely kept that opinion to himself. He was slowly backing away to return to his team when Foam spoke to him.

"Thank you, Jazz. I can't say how relieved I am that you found him before leaving on your mission."

"Don't mention it," Jazz said. "None of us would want anything ta happen ta those sparklets."

"But, but where did you find him? Nightbeat just went off on his own and never called back."

Much to Foam's chagrin, Jazz started to laugh, though whether it was genuine amusement or a shaky laugh, she could not tell.

"He must have known I would find 'Bee soon enough," Jazz wheezed, shaking his head. "And Foam, this is for your sake. Ya _honestly_ do not want ta know where he was found, trust the saboteur on this. I don't want ta call Ratchet because ya had a spark failure."

Still chuckling, Jazz transformed and sped back to the gate, leaving Foam with an utterly horrified look.

Unbeknownst to the bot holding him, Bumblebee pulled a face, disappointed that now he had to go back to that boring training range. However, now that he knew how to get out of that fence and all about those catwalks, he felt certain that the next time he would be more successful in his secret mission.

Next time, he would find Hatchet.


End file.
